Southern Ruby (37 page)

My stomach flipped. The street was full of signs like that, telling coloured folks that they could look at but not try on clothes or hats, couldn't use the toilets, or couldn't eat at the same end of the lunch counter as white people. All those instructions conspired to send the message that Negroes were inferior. The girl folded her hands in front of her and waited politely for my answer. I bit my lip. How could I tell this innocent child, beginning to find her place in the world, that ‘col-o-reds' meant her? Before I had a chance to think what to say, the girl's mother arrived and grabbed her hand.

‘Lakisha, why did you wander off like that? You nearly gave me a heart attack!' The woman glanced at me nervously. ‘I hope she wasn't bothering you?'

‘Not at all,' I said. ‘She's charming.'

The woman hoisted Lakisha onto her hip and I watched the two of them hurry down the street.

The bookstore clerk came out and asked if I was interested in anything in the window. I shook my head and walked away. The man I loved and his family suffered the indignity of being treated as inferior every day of their lives. If they weren't welcome in that store, I wasn't going to give them my money. It was then that I noticed Lakisha's mother had dropped a piece of paper. It was a pamphlet. I picked it up and read:
Urban League of New Orleans. Meeting Tomorrow
. That was the organisation that had been formed to better the lives of coloured people. The meeting was to take place in Ursulines Avenue. Out of curiosity, I decided to go after I'd finished reading to Maman.

The next day, I turned up at the meeting and was surprised to see nearly a hundred people gathered there. From the conversations taking place around me, I discovered they were an eclectic mix: priests, rabbis, coloured teachers and social
reformers, university students, Jewish housewives, and a few Uptown ladies. While it wasn't illegal for coloured and white to be under the same roof as long as they were segregated, it was highly subversive for everyone to be sitting mingled like this, looking for all the world like a bag of mixed marbles instead of a well-ordered chess game.

I noticed Lakisha's mother and approached her. ‘I'm Vivienne de Villeray,' I said, holding out my hand. ‘Your little girl stopped to speak to me yesterday on Canal Street.'

The woman took my hand. ‘And I'm Renette Fabre. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss de Villeray. Lakisha's at that age when she's curious about the world. She wants to know how everything works and why certain things are so.'

‘My mother often says that I never grew out of that stage.'

Renette laughed. ‘Well, maybe that's not such a bad thing. I guess that's why we're here, aren't we? We're the people who haven't stopped asking why.'

Renette and I took seats next to each other and I recalled the night I'd forced Mae to join me in the dining room and how uncomfortable she'd been. It was going to take a lot of us to be willing to make ourselves uncomfortable before anything could change.

I glanced over my shoulder at the other people who were arriving for the meeting and my heart dropped when Clifford Lalande walked in with his mother and sister. Kitty waved wildly when she spotted me, and nudged Clifford in the ribs. His eyebrows rose in surprise and then he beamed at me. I returned the smile but his appearance meant my anticipation of the meeting was now tempered by the awkwardness of the situation. Clifford and Jackie would be married already, although there was no sign of her. I couldn't forget the humiliation of that day at the tennis court when I'd realised Clifford was not interested in me.

The seats in the section where I was sitting were all taken so the Lalandes made their way to the opposite row. Mrs Lalande mouthed a ‘hello' to me before sitting down.

The first speaker was Joan Fischer, the daughter of a well-to-do businessman. She stood at the podium and explained how she'd become involved in the Civil Rights Movement.

‘My husband fought in Europe and returned with stories of the genocide there. That furthered my own belief that racism is the greatest threat to human progress,' she said in her lilting society accent. ‘Those of us living Uptown think we know coloured people and what they want, but we don't. If you talk only to your cook or your gardener, do you truly think those who rely on your goodwill are going to tell you about their real troubles and aspirations? Coloured people are not content with their lot and nor should they be. The median income for a coloured family is half that of a white family in this city, and it's near impossible to improve oneself when you are forced to attend inferior, segregated schools. The only way to even begin to start knowing each other is to mix with each other in all areas of life. Let's start with the new generation, our children. Let them grow up side by side as equals, knowing each other for the fellow human beings they are. That is where our hope for the future lies.'

The audience responded with applause. The coloured chairman announced that the next speaker would be Clifford Lalande. ‘But before Mr Lalande comes to the podium,' the chairman said, ‘on behalf of the committee, I would like to express our condolences to the Lalande family. Their much loved patriarch, Stanton Lalande, passed away after a short illness six weeks ago. Stanton Lalande helped to organise this chapter of the Urban League. He was a great civic leader and a loyal friend, and he will be sorely missed. We are grateful that his son has joined us today to take his place.'

I glanced at the Lalandes and felt sorry for their loss. I thought of the lovely Southern gentleman I had met outside
Antoine's Restaurant with Clifford, and how he had kindly comforted me regarding Maman's illness.

Clifford adjusted his tie and cleared his throat before stepping up to the podium. After thanking the chairman and the committee for their words regarding his father, he began his speech.

‘Mrs Fischer is correct when she says that change must begin within our school system and that is the hard road ahead for us,' he said, looking around the audience. ‘Ever since the Brown versus Board of Education case, the Orleans Parish School Board has done everything in its power — by legal or quasi-legal activities — to prevent the desegregation of schools. The State of Louisiana, going against Federal rulings, has voted to cut off funding to schools that desegregate and to deny admission to State universities to those students who have attended desegregated schools. Newspaper men and community leaders who have taken a stand for desegregation, including myself, Mrs Fischer and Rabbi Feibelman, have found ourselves branded communists and have received threatening letters and telephone calls.

‘As we work together to win the hearts and minds of our fellow New Orleanians, I believe it is necessary for us to combat the Orleans Parish School Board with legal action, including class actions by parents. The NAACP has been successful in legal actions such as achieving the desegregation of the law school, graduate school and nursing schools at Louisiana State University. It is my belief that we also must use legal means to force change.'

Along with the questions from the audience, the meeting ran for nearly an hour. When it finished, I realised I'd have to rush to Chartres Street to get any sleep before Leroy arrived. I was torn between approaching the Lalandes to express my sympathy for their loss and my need to hurry. Then the awkwardness of speaking to them at all overcame me, and I decided to leave
and send them a condolence card later. I was making my way to the door when I felt a tap on my arm. I turned around to see Clifford standing next to me. ‘Ruby, what a pleasant surprise to see you here.'

‘Your speech was very moving,' I told him. ‘Your father would have been proud.'

‘Thank you,' he said, pausing for a moment before continuing. ‘My father was always active; I never would have thought he could catch pneumonia and pass away so quickly. But his final request to Mother, Kitty and myself was to carry on, and that's what we are trying to do.'

It must have taken some courage for Clifford to deliver that speech in his father's place. Given the circumstances, it seemed odd that Jackie had not come to the meeting to support him. But that wasn't the only strange thing. It was the way Clifford was looking at me so intensely. A married man should not be gazing at another woman as if she was the only person in the room.

‘Would you like to join my family for lunch at our house?' Clifford asked, his amiable smile returning to his face. ‘I'm curious to know all about what you've been up to.'

Perhaps it would have been kind of me to go, but I felt too uneasy. It was possible Clifford was simply being polite, but a gnawing feeling told me otherwise.

‘I'm sorry,' I said, ‘I'm in a hurry to get home. I read to my mother every afternoon and she'll be waiting for me.'

It was a lie, of course. I'd already read to Maman for that day. I'd forgotten that he wasn't easily deterred.

‘Well, let me walk you home,' he said. ‘It will give me a chance to catch up with you and hear your thoughts about desegregation.'

‘But don't you have to join your family for lunch?'

He shrugged. ‘Oh, it's a very casual affair. Anyone who has attended the meeting is welcome to drop in to our place afterwards for a buffet luncheon.'

I couldn't let him walk me to Chartres Street. I decided I would hold a cordial conversation with him for the walk back to our apartment in Royal Street and then leave it at that. I could go on to Chartres Street from there.

‘All right,' I said.

A cold wind was blowing up from the river and we tugged our coat collars up around our mouths and ears. It made conversation difficult, which I was thankful for, because the reason I was interested in desegregation was because I wanted to be with Leroy. Clifford kept bumping into me on the narrow banquette, so he stepped behind me and put his hand gently on my back to steady me.

‘Here it is,' I said, when we reached my apartment building.

‘It must be exciting living in the Quarter,' he said, looking around. ‘The Garden District is so quiet. You hardly see anybody on the street — except for the occasional pretty tour guide.'

I swallowed. It was obvious he was looking for an excuse to prolong our conversation but I had to get away. Why had a man who was married insisted on walking me home? It felt cruel, considering his recent bereavement, but if he was entertaining any idea that we could have more than a friendly acquaintance, it needed to be stopped.

I was about to wish him well and go inside when Maman stepped out onto the gallery with only a shawl around her shoulders. She looked down and her eyes widened.

‘Ruby!' she cried, lifting her hand to her throat in a gesture of guilt. ‘I expected you back —'

I knew she was going to say ‘later', but Clifford interrupted before she had a chance to finish. ‘I'm the reason she's late back, ma'am. I insisted that she chat with me.'

‘It's cold today. Why don't you come up for some coffee?' she said, all aflutter at the sight of her unmarried daughter standing next to an attractive man. I could only imagine how
Clifford appeared to Maman with his clean-cut features, his fine clothes and his charismatic smile.

I wondered what he must have been thinking when I led him up the stairs to our apartment. I'd made improvements with the money I'd earned at the club, but the cobblestones were slimy, the garden overgrown and the brickwork needed painting. It was all tumbledown compared to his orderly house in the Garden District. ‘Do come in,' said Maman, who, in the short interim between me and Clifford making our way from the street to the apartment, had managed to spray rose perfume in the air and pull her hair into a fetching chignon. The quiet atmosphere of our apartment was transformed, with Beethoven playing on the record player and the smell of baking coming from the kitchen.

‘Maman, this is Clifford Lalande,' I told her.

‘I'm very pleased to meet you, Mr Lalande,' said Maman, inviting him to take the best seat in the parlour: a French oak carver chair that I'd only managed to buy back from the pawn shop the previous week, along with the faded Aubusson sofa that Maman and I sat on together.

‘What is it you do with yourself, Mr Lalande, when you are not accompanying my daughter home?' Maman asked him.

Our French ancestors had been petite people and the carver chair was too low for Clifford's long legs. He crossed them and then uncrossed them in an effort to get comfortable. But nothing could erase his affable smile. ‘I'm a lawyer. I work in my family's firm.'

‘So you must have graduated from Louisiana State University?'

‘That's right. Like my daddy and granddaddy before me.'

Maman emitted a gasp of delight. ‘Was your grandfather Judge Lalande by any chance? I believe I met him once, a long time ago when I was a young woman.'

‘Indeed he was,' answered Clifford.

She smoothed her dress in a way that indicated she was impressed. Southern people didn't feel comfortable with a new acquaintance until they'd uncovered at least one person they knew in common. Seeing Maman in action reminded me how much she enjoyed social nuances and connections, and how much her illness and my father's extravagant lifestyle had taken from her.

‘He spoke perfect French,' Clifford said. ‘I bet he wanted to speak only French with you? He was very proud of it.'

‘Yes, I believe he did!' said Maman with a girlish smile. ‘And do you speak French too?'

‘I wish,' he replied, glancing in my direction. ‘But I guess there's always time to learn . . . if I can find the right person to teach me.'

I fidgeted with my sleeve cuff. If he'd dropped a hint like that when I'd first met him, I would have been walking on air. But now, under the current circumstances, I only wanted to flee from the room and hide.

Mae entered pushing a trolley with a coffee pot and cups and almond madeleines fresh from the oven. While Mae served Clifford, Maman flashed a look at me. Despite her outward appearance of graceful calm, I knew her mind was ticking over. Her eyes shifted to Clifford's left hand and she smiled to herself when she saw he wasn't wearing a wedding band. I was curious about the lack of a ring too. Jackie Fausey hadn't struck me as the kind of woman who would wait.